My Sun and Stars
by Darth Riven
Summary: A sequel to Beautifully Broken that my reviewers asked me to write. Please review.


**My Sun and Stars**

 **This is sort of a sequel to Beautifully Broken. Originally, it was meant to never have a sequel but a couple of the reviewers asked for a sequel. This is my go at it.**

 **Please leave a review and tell us what you think.  
**

 **Standard copyright disclaimers apply. ASOIAF of course, belongs to GRRM and not me. GoT is produced by HBO.**

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" _When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," she said sadly. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before."_

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It was those eyes. Those damned green eyes. Those seven-times-damned green eyes that were so soulful and haunting at the same time. She had not known how it had happened, but somehow, after the events of that day, she had begun to fall in love with that man. That beautifully broken man that she wanted to put together again.

At first, it had been a pragmatic choice, she needed a Warden of the West, and after she had heard what he had done to save the city, she knew that he was the best suited for that role. He cared about the smallfolk more than he cared about honour. He cared about the people that she ruled. And she knew, that if she were to go mad like her father, he would not hesitate to kill her to save the people. And she had respected him for that, weird as it was.

She imagined what it would have been like if he had stood aside and let Rossart light the wildfire beneath Kings Landing. She would not be where she was today. Her family would have been reviled forever for mass murder, held up as an example of what not to do.

Her deepest fear, not even shared with Tyrion, her Hand, was that one day, she would become her father. She had seen it consume her brother Viserys before his death. They always said that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Either greatness or madness, perhaps even a bit of both. She had certainly done things in her life that could be classed as great or mad.

She had plied him relentlessly for stories of how court was in Kings Landing at the end of her father's days, in an effort to learn what signs in herself she should possibly look out for, what behaviours could lead to her self diagnosing. Just in case. Just in case she went mad. She cared about her people to much to subject them to the whims of another mad monarch.

So, at least a part of her day, when not dealing with matters of court were spent with the man. Predictably, the more he shared the stories of his two years at Kings Landing, the more she got a fuller picture of the young man that Jaime had been. The young man that had been honourable and moral, upright and just. The young man whose character had been murdered by her father's actions, towards her mother, towards the people he was supposed to rule justly.

She remembered when he had told her of her own conception. The night that her royal father had burned Lord Chelsted and then raped her mother whilst Jaime and Ser Jonothor Darry had stood outside the door. Jaime had recounted how Ser Jonothor had instructed him to ignore Queen Rhaella's cries for help, that they were not bound to protect her from King Aerys.

Condemnation of Ser Jonothor had burst from her lips before she could stop it, before she realised, it was the way that marriage worked, in Westeros and Essos. She was thankful that Khal Drogo, even though she had feared him at first, treated her well. She was lucky that she had not been married to a mad Viserys. It had been enough to give her nightmares for the night. But still, this was what she needed to hear, the truth.

Westeros was rife with rumours, and it was not uncommon for her to hear things, such as northerners being able to transform into werewolves or, that Stannis had burned his own daughter in a sacrifice to some foreign god. Another common rumour that she heard was that Jaime had been lovers with his twin sister Cersei. That seemed oft repeated, and when she had asked Tyrion about it, he had been uncharacteristically quiet, and had said nothing but that it was something that Stannis had started when he had wanted to claim the Iron Throne, to legitimise his claim. But she knew Tyrion well enough that there was a lot more to that story but Tyrion had refused to say any more when she had pressed. "Ask Jaime yourself," he had said, "if you are so interested," before leaving the Small Council.

One day, as Jaime was telling her another tale of her older brother Prince Rhaegar, curiosity overcame her, and she asked, "Is it true, what I hear," she said, "that you and your late twin sister were lovers?"

She immediately saw his eyes cloud over, those damned green eyes, become immediately more haunted, and she knew that she shouldn't have asked the question so bluntly, or rather, she should have not asked the question at all. It was clear that it was true.

"At a time," his reply came. "When we were younger, she was not always like what she became. When we were innocent. Before she became obsessed with power. I thought that I was in love with her and she with me. She would often say that we were one person in two bodies and I believed it, naïve as I was," the last phrase was said whimsically, as it were just a phrase.

A pause, and Daenerys wished to know more. The Septons did preach against incest, but as a product of an incestuous relationship herself, what could she say.

"The day she wed Robert Baratheon, and then dishonoured her by whispering Lyanna Stark's name in her ears after the bedding, I fancied myself Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and she, my Queen Naerys. He was of course, Aegon the Unworthy." There were rumours that Daeron the Second was Aemon's son, not Aegon's though no one would ever know. It had been one of the causes of the Blackfyre rebellions that had plagued Westeros until the fake Prince Aegon had died. "But it was not to be, for she had not stayed true, she had bedded many others while telling me she loved only me. We will never know. I suppose that the children were mine. They certainly had Lannister looks, but only she truly knew and she's gone." It was at this time that Jaime was reminded once more that Cersei was dead and he was not. He was still here, existing, but broken.

Daenerys saw that he did not want to say any more about it, painful as it was. She knew that this information must never make the light of day. And when he married and sired heirs as she wanted, those rumours would be further dispelled. Not that she judged him for loving a woman. He sounded like a man who had been fully devoted to his love, like she had been to Drogo before he had died, the first time.

"I lost my love too," she had said, "my first husband, Khal Drogo was my sun and stars." Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them. "Because of my mistake, I trusted the wrong person." _Or perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking that Drogo's horse had been enough_. "I never had a chance to know my child either. He was stillborn and shrivelled. The price I paid for trusting the wrong person."

"I never had the chance to know them either," Jaime replied, "they were always Robert's and Cersei's, even if they had not been Robert's seed." He had always wanted to be a father to the children, especially Tommen and Myrcella, who had suffered from a lack of attention from both parents. His voice and mood were reflective.

Daenerys found that she had commonalities with the man that had killed her father. It was strange, but true. She found that she understood him.

As time passed, and wounds healed from the War of Dawn, young men and women, accompanied by ambitious parents began to come to Kings Landing again. To come to court, to find a place of power, broker alliances. Tyrion spent time advising her of the many young men and women who passed into court. Young men and women from all different houses from Westeros came to Kings Landing to be in the new Queen's good graces. Many from the Reach, Dorne, the Crownlands and Riverlands came to court for a while at least.

Not many came from the Westerlands. Her spies told her that the lords of the West grudgingly accepted her rule because they feared the dragons. They had no real love for her and certainly, they had no love for Tyrion. Although Tywin Lannister had been a man who ruled through fear, he did know how to reward his supporters and his loyal bannermen and as such, Tyrion, as Tywin's killer was looked upon unfavourably in the West.

Daenerys had tried to invite Sansa Stark to court, but the girl had refused the invitation claiming that the journey would be too arduous whilst she and her brothers Bran and Rickon were rebuilding the North. It had been devastated by the Others. Daenerys was of half a mind to fly her dragon up to Winterfell, but Tyrion and Jaime had counselled against it. Kings Landing held too many bad memories for Sansa they had both said. She had been mistreated in her time at Kings Landing. Lady Brienne had vouched for it too. She was not required to be at court.

She knew that Prince Jon would need to be married soon, to someone who could produce another Targaryen heir. The young man who had led the army so ably, and was her only living relative would need to produce children to secure the Targaryen line. However, it seemed that Jon had not found anyone to his liking yet, despite the many young women that had been thrown in his path.

He seemed to take after the very serious Ned Stark in that manner, eschewing the attention of maidens trying to throw themselves at him. She had heard that he often complained to Tyrion about the attention he received, but as her heir, and the only one who could carry on the Targaryen bloodline, he was a most delectable catch for any maiden.

Speaking of delectable catches, both Jaime and Tyrion were also still unmarried. Tyrion had despaired of being married, since he had lost his wife, the crofter's daughter Tysha, all those years ago. He had yet to find someone who could overlook his obvious deformities, and was afraid that women only wanted to marry him for power.

As for Jaime, at five and twenty, Jaime Lannister could have been said to have been handsome, beautiful even, but horribly cocky and arrogant and aloof. At five and thirty, Jaime Lannister, was...magnetic, it was the only word to describe it. Even though he had an ugly stump at the end of his right arm, for some reason, many maidens still flocked to him, wanting his favour, no...his attention. But the man was as choosy as ever with women.

Oh, she did see him pay attention to maidens from time to time, regaling them with stories of his battles, with a smile that did not quite reach the eyes, against the Others and the wights, and even some tales from his earliest days as a squire with Lord Sumner Crakehall, and fighting the Kingswood Brotherhood. But, he never took interest in any one maiden for very long. And one by one, they moved on, married to other young eligible lords and lordlings.

Lady Brienne was the only woman that he spent time with, but there was nothing romantic between them. He liked Brienne because she was everything that he had aspired to be, everything he was when he was fifteen, before Kings Landing. They were more like brothers-in-arms.

As for herself, Daenerys also had no shortage of suitors, but she knew that her womb was barren and that Jon was her heir. She could not afford to marry a heir and leave him childless. Nor would she ever marry someone she did not love again. Not after the betrayals of her political husbands.

She remembered the curse that the Lamb Woman had given her. _When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again and you bear a living child._ She knew that the lovers and husbands she had had since then had all failed to make her bear a living child. And anyway, Drogo was long dead. He was not going to come back. Although she knew she had bled her moon's blood after she had first flown on Drogon. The sun had never risen in the west nor set in the east. It was probably all metaphorical, after all, prophecy was always subject to interpretation, and it was never clear.

The wisest thing that the Archmaester Marwyn had said was not to worry about prophecy. It will happen, but it will resolve itself in its own way. There was no need to spend every day obsessing over prophecy, it would only drive one to folly. Tyrion had agreed.

Jaime was once again entertaining another group of young maidens in the gardens of the Red Keep, when he spied Queen Daenerys walking by, Queensguard behind her, her Dothraki bloodriders following. Their eyes met just for a second, green on violet before she had to move on. He supposed this was better than he deserved, this existence. He turned back to the maidens in the garden, and continued to chatter away.

He had heard the rumours float around court that the Westerlands were grudging. The taxes were paid and the like, but there was no real love for the new regime in the Westerlands, not amongst the lords anyway. Tyrion had intimated as much when they had last had dinner together.

He would often spar swords with Brienne, he was still improving with his left hand, in wielding the sword. Although he would never be as good as he was. It was just one the facts of this new reality he lived in. In his dreams now, he always had one hand. His subconsciousness had accepted. He was distracted in his musings, and he forgot to block as Brienne's sword gave him an almighty clout on the head.

Daenerys had been watching Jaime and Brienne spar with tourney swords with blunted edges. Even then, she saw Jaime totally forget to block Brienne's hard swing with his own sword. Brienne had tried to pull back at the last second, but still, the force of the blow had knocked Jaime to the ground. Forgetting her place, Daenerys had rushed over to see if Jaime was hurt. She could not do with an addled Warden of the West.

By the time she reached Jaime, Brienne had managed to undo his helmet. There was a cut on his forehead, as blood trickled down his face. He was dazed, but seemed to be okay. Daenerys pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed it at the cut on his forehead.

"My queen," Lady Brienne had said, "I will go get the Maester." She hurried off, leaving the tourney swords behind.

Jaime blinked, his vision still a bit foggy from Brienne's blow on his helm. He saw the Queen standing above him, holding her silk handkerchief to the cut on his head. "Queen Daenerys," he said, "why are you?"

"I need you." she replied. "Because, you are the only one who will tell me the truth, no matter how hard it is. You have been the only man who has never wanted something from me, be it power or something else. Men like you are rare."

"There are no men like me, there's only me." He quipped.

Daenerys laughed, it was at this time, that Jaime seemed to not be weighed down by everything that had happened in his life. It was a time that he was carefree, not worn down by the world. And in a way, it was an escape for her too. Often she wished that she could have a simple and carefree life, but she could not. But she still treasured the moments where she could leave Queen Daenerys Targaryen behind and just be Daenerys. To her, it seemed as if those moments were always with Jaime Lannister. The moments that she treasured.

Inevitably, she took Jaime as her bedmate. She knew from a political perspective it was wrong, but her heart told her it was right. She was sure that lady Brienne would do her the favour of birthing an heir for Jaime and the Westerlands, and an heir for her own Tarth. She was sure Brienne would be a surrogate. She would birth babies for the realm. But for now, she enjoyed her time with Jaime.

Three moons after, her moon blood did not come. Archmaester Marwyn told her that she was pregnant. Part of her feared that the baby would be lost, or be deformed like her last. She kept it a secret for as long as she could, telling no one but Tyrion, who seemed happy. And Jon, who seemed to be absolutely relieved that he was no longer heir to the Iron Throne.

Jaime was in a stupor when she had given him the news. He had thought that her womb had been damaged beyond repair. Daenerys had said she had thought so too. The only thing that he had made her promise was that he would be allowed to hold the baby as his own, whether the baby was acknowledged as his bastard, or as his father. She had agreed, even if they were not to be married, he would be a father to this child, to the new heir to the Iron Throne.

Six moons after, Archmaester Marwyn and Maester Samwell attended to her with the midwives, whilst she was giving birth. The pain was great as she pushed and pushed to get the baby out, but when she saw the baby blues and light blonde hair of her baby boy, she knew that it was all worth it. Jaime had been with her in the birthing chamber, all the way through, holding her hand with his left. She was sure that when she was pushing their baby out of her womb, she had squeezed his hand so hard that she had cracked the bones in his hand, but all she saw was a small grimace of pain replaced by a smile as soon as the baby had uttered his first cry.

It was then she realised that she was in love. With him. Her love had returned to her. It mattered not what that lamb woman had said. She had found love. The House of the Undying came back to her, all of the three sets of three had ended in love. A fire that she had to light to love, a mount she had to ride to love, and a treason once for love. Perhaps, as she held her baby, exhausted after the labour, she had lit a fire in herself, allowed herself once more to love, she had certainly mounted Jaime more than once and a treason, perhaps she had betrayed her father because she loved the man who killed him. But then she realised, trying to find meaning in those prophecies was meaningless. Let them come when they come. She was here and now, content and in love and that was all she ever wanted.


End file.
